Roaming through a frozen world,
Where grasses green from deep emerge,
And from the darkness springs a life and sound.
Huddled by the fire at night,
And staring at the stars up high,
A vision of what could be gifts of Gods.
But lowly is the mortal wander,
Through the trees and in the mud,
As snow receeds to memory and dream.
And as the temperature grows by day,
And nights made short give way to light,
The toil of life begins once more anew.
For what once was the rest and feast,
Replaced by empty shelves and beasts,
Which must be tended and then fed for when winter comes again.